Tuesday, March 9

my contribution

brave marcus.
brave mustached marcus.
clad in scrubs matching mine.
revenge of the insane
insane in the membrane.
the wind is blowing marcus.
but the plastic windows are windows of a submarine.
through which i spot fish flying by and blue forever.
there is a sun in the sky but it refuses to shine on my head.
to warm my cold scalp.
and microwave my brain for whatever troll wants to eat it.
the moon shines too.
my nose pressed against the airplane window in my bedroom.
to see birds flying and the tiny city below
a shot to sleep
and straight jacket model shows.
grins under eyes glazed over with unintelegent wonder.
mirror mirror in my own eyes i cant spot flame or desire
just more i's forever in all directions.
another morning.
breakfast and back to bed.
days spent musing about shapes in the ceiling.
sorry marcus.
mustache marcus.
with whom i talk about the birds, how they talk to him
and how they stare at me through plastic windows
coloring books
toys to keep me happy
a genius. but insanity is a fine line.
burn it all down now marcus.
every body dies marcus
who should i be
what should i be
a bird marcus to fly and save the princess.
turn your head.
run marcus.

written by martin bradshaw

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